


Empty Your Hands

by ohnojustimagine



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:21:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25484599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohnojustimagine/pseuds/ohnojustimagine
Summary: Santos shows Joaquin and Raul how things are done.
Relationships: El Hijo del Fantasma | King Cuerno/Original Female Character(s), Santos Escobar/Original Female Character
Kudos: 3





	Empty Your Hands

You find the three of them in the mostly-deserted bar of the hotel, where Santos has asked you to meet him. You'd assumed you'd be alone with him, but Legado del Fantasma are drinking, talking seriously enough to be obvious it's regarding business. And so you take a breath as you approach, not wanting to interrupt but also not wanting Santos to think you're disrespectful enough to be late.

He greets you with nothing but a small smile, his gaze raking over your body, the presumed _ownership_ in his eyes possessively dominant. You've dressed to please him, in a silky black wrap dress, nothing underneath but a garter belt and fishnet stockings. The dress ties at the waist, and you've left the upper part open enough that your breasts are barely covered, because you weren't expecting company tonight.

Raul and Joaquin don't say anything, but they're both blatantly staring at your chest, and you want to adjust the dress, but you know Santos wouldn't like that, so instead you swallow nervously, looking around for another chair, wondering if you're supposed to sit down and join them.

Santos pats his lap, and you hesitate for a second, feeling awkward, but he gives you a look sharp enough that you obey, balancing yourself across his thighs awkwardly, trying to keep your dress in place. But Santos wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you in closer.

He's still talking as he sets his drink down on the table, the ice in it clinking softly, and he slips his hand inside your dress, over your breast. His fingers are cold, damp from the condensation on the glass and your nipple instantly hardens at his touch. He strokes it, circling around the hard peak and then across it, teasing, shifting his hand enough to move the material of your dress aside, exposing your breast.

And you might gasp quietly, but there's no one here to see but Joaquin and Raul and yet you're still embarrassed. You squirm a little, trying to hide your discomfort, and Santos only holds you tighter.

"Go get us a room," he says, nodding at Joaquin, who stands up, straightening his jacket as he strides off.

"Us?" you ask, timidly, wondering who exactly that includes.

"Us," Santos repeats. "All of us."

Raul raises his eyebrows at that, his eyes widening, but he doesn't say anything, gulping down the rest of his drink.

"Why?" Santos asks you. "Do you have a problem with that?"

"No," you reply, quickly, because you don't. "It's just a..." _surprise_ , you want to say, but Santos cuts you off, his words decisive.

"You're mine," he says, and then smiles at you. "And I like to share what's mine." He runs his hand up your thigh, under your dress, dipping down between your legs, and for a moment you keep them closed tightly, aware of Raul's eyes on you. _"Mine,"_ Santos whispers, threatening, and you part your legs, his fingers finding the heat there. 

"See," he murmurs, "already wet."

You bite your lip as he touches you, and when you look up, Joaquin is standing there, waiting.

The elevator ride up to the room is silent, and once you're inside, door safely closed, Santos takes charge immediately.

"Sit down," he tells Raul and Joaquin, gesturing at the bed. "Let me show you how she likes it."

They do as asked, Joaquin perched on one corner, Raul making himself more comfortable, leaning back against the headboard. You're standing facing them, and Santos moves around to stand behind you.

You don't know what he's going to ask you to do, feeling yourself shaking as you inhale, taking in the scent of him; expensive cologne and cigar smoke, the hint of alcohol on his breath as he kisses your cheek.

His hands are at your waist, untying your dress, opening it wide, and you hear Raul and Joaquin both let out a breath at the sight of your body and you're dizzy, your heart racing out of control, like it won't ever stop. Santos kisses your neck, his hands sliding up under your breasts, lifting them, kneading, his touch firm. He pinches your nipples, not letting go until you whine with the sharp pain of it, your back arching up, head falling back against his shoulder. He releases his grasp, smoothing over the hurt with his thumbs, gentle for just a moment before he presses down, hard, and you cry out, but that only makes him even rougher.

He keeps one hand on your breasts, not letting up, the other moving downwards as he uses one knee to nudge your legs further apart, still caressing your stomach, lower and lower.

You make a desperate sound as his fingers stroke through your wet folds, opening to him as he pushes into you, slowly, his two fingers curling inside you, your hips jerking as he finds that one spot with an unerring, unnerving precision.

"You like that?" he asks, softly, his mouth hot on your ear, the rich, almost mocking chuckle he lets out echoing in your head, because you can't answer.

He fucks in and out, hard and steady, and you're close to losing it when he stops, swapping his hands over. And you quickly realize it's his dominant hand that's now between your legs, even more skilled, his other fingers now slick with your wetness as they toy with your nipples, slippery-sweet on your skin, and you moan, closing your eyes.

"No," Santos says. "Eyes open." And when you hesitate, he squeezes your breast so hard you gasp. "Now," he orders, and you obey with a swallowed-down whine. Raul and Joaquin are staring at you, at your body, Santos' hands on you, and you see Raul start to rub himself through the front of his pants.

"Look at them," Santos tells you. "I want you to look at them when you come."

"I..." you stammer out. "I can't, I..."

"Shhh," Santos tells you, though there's nothing soothing in it, his hand clamping over your mouth as he presses down on your clit, the pressure of it like something ruthless, calculated to send you right over the edge.

You have to reach back, touch him, your hands on the broadly muscular sides of his thighs, fisting at the fabric of his pants, trying to hold on as your orgasm rocks through you, wave after wave of it, Santos knowing exactly how to make it last. Raul and Joaquin watch, their eyes dark, and you can't look away, not until you're done.

"Good girl," Santos murmurs, kissing your cheek, holding you as you lean back against him, trembling, your legs weak. "Such a good girl."

"Now," he says, arms supporting you as he pushes you forward. "I think Raul and Joaquin are waiting, aren't they?" You whimper, not yet ready for more, but wanting it anyway, and Santos only smiles. "Show me how good you can be for me, baby."


End file.
